


Baby, We Can Fly

by aerClassic



Series: At Your Service [3]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: CEO!Yunho, Exhibitionist Behavior, Flight Attendant!Hongjoong, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Short n Sweet Oneshots, technically complete
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-07-09 08:01:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19884298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerClassic/pseuds/aerClassic
Summary: A collection of events in the lives of two idiots.[updated periodically]





	1. First Dance

**Author's Note:**

> big thank you to everyone who held my hands and fed me encouragement for the main series.  
> these little snippets are for you <:

Hongjoong comes home to smooth jazz playing over their surround system, chilled wine sweating in an ice bucket on the kitchen bar, and Yunho starfished out in the middle of the living room with all of their furniture pushed to the edges against the walls. He’s asleep, Hongjoong can tell by the nearly silent air whistling between Yunho’s lips and the trail of drool shining in the low light he can see even from his vantage point by the door. He tries to be quiet tiptoeing around the prone form of his fiancé, but as soon as he thinks he’s in the clear, a hand reaches out and grabs him neatly by the ankle.

Hongjoong’s yelp is drowned out by the sound of laughter.

“You _asshole_ ,” he hisses while Yunho continues to lose his breath on squeaky inhales. “I was trying to be nice and let you _sleep_.”

Yunho smiles up at him, cheeks pinked and his eyes shining with mirth, “I know, but it was too funny to let the opportunity go to waste.” Yunho leans over enough to press a kiss against the bone of his ankle; Hongjoong decides to forgive him—just a little. “How goes the designing?”

“It’s going.” Hongjoong sighs, scrubs a hand down his face just to feel his ring catch at the corner of his mouth. By ‘going’ he really means there’s a lot of muttering and paper shredding happening, and more than two mannequins have been dressed up with flowing fabrics and summarily stripped of their garments while Hongjoong stomped around like a toddler. They’re just a month away from the wedding and Hongjoong is so distracted all he can come up with lately features too low cuts or indecently short hemlines—eagerness for their honeymoon showing through in his work.

Hongjoong drops down to lay his head on Yunho’s shoulder, cuddling up to his side when Yunho wiggles his fingers underneath him to better grip around Hongjoong’s waist. “What’s with the furniture? And the music?”

“Thought it might be fun to practice our first dance.” Yunho pecks the crown of his head.

The sentiment is sweet, but Hongjoong is _tired._ He’s so tired, exhausted from second guessing everything he’s made for the last two days that dancing just sounds like torture when they could just as easily go to sleep in the middle of the floor instead. Hongjoong throws a leg over Yunho’s thighs. “No.”

Yunho rolls over so that he’s hovering inches from Hongjoong’s nose, hands on either side of his head and hips flush against one another. When he leans down, Hongjoong expects for the moment to turn heated—for Yunho to swoop in and seal their mouths together or grind down until they’re desperate and gasping for breath—but instead Yunho places his mouth on his cheek and blows the world’s most obnoxious raspberry.

Hongjoong stares at the ceiling while spit cools on his skin and Yunho giggles like a toddler into his neck. “I hate you. I want you to know I really, really do.”

“Liar.” Yunho is still laughing when he makes to stand up, dragging Hongjoong with him by his arms. “You _love_ me,” he singsongs while twisting to twirl Hongjoong around in a slow circle, “You want to _hold me_ , you want to _smooch_ and _marry me_.”

Hongjoong snorts helpless laughter the longer Yunho goes on, horribly misquoting Sandra Bullock. “That’s not how it goes.”

“Whatever, it’s close enough. The point still stands, you don’t hate me and we’re going to _dance_ —” Yunho pulls him close by the waist, “—at our _wedding_ —” he bops the tip of Hongjoong’s nose with the tip of a finger “—and you have two left feet so we need to practice.”

“I do not!” Hongjoong stomps a foot, narrowly missing Yunho’s sock covered toes and vindictively considers doing it again to crunch them under his heel. “The one time we danced together I was drunk off my ass and then you did that—that _thing_ and I fell. That was _your_ fault, not mine.”  
  
Yunho pauses in his slow endeavour to lead them into a waltz, “Oh yeah, you were kinda drunk that night. Wait, what _thing_ did I do? I don’t remember a thing.”

Hongjoong squints up at him. Yunho raises his eyebrows back and resumes swaying to and fro. “You know what you did.”

“I really don’t,” Yunho rolls his eyes. Hongjoong considers giving him a titty-twister as revenge until his fiancé leans down to gently press their mouths together. His mouth is sweet, tasting vaguely of wine, and his lips are soft; Hongjoong loses himself in it—in the shared breath, the easy give and take without trying to go anywhere or start anything—until Yunho backs away with increasingly shorter pecks against the corners of his mouth and his cupid’s bow and his chin. “Please, just humor me for a little while and dance with me.”

Hongjoong groans leaning his head into Yunho’s clavicle. “Baby, I’m so tired. Can’t we do this some other time? Or in the morning?”

“Absolutely not,” Yunho grins at him. His cheeks scrunch adorably. Hongjoong notes with no small amount of horror that he’s about to concede defeat immediately and sends a last farewell to the days when he could tell Yunho ‘no’. Yunho delicately maneuvers Hongjoong’s hands to rest on either side of his neck. “You can just stand on my feet and I’ll do all the work.”

“That’s the shit little kids do with their parents,” Hongjoong twists his fingers behind Yunho’s neck to play with the small expanse of fine hairs curling at his nape. “What are you, my dad?”

Yunho smirks and wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Not your dad, but I could be your _daddy_.”

It is the singular worst joke Hongjoong has ever heard in his life. He feels justified in giving Yunho a swift mocking kick in the shin. “Terrible, just awful, you should feel _ashamed_ for that one.”

“Hyung—Hyung-ah!” Yunho giggles ugly, snorting laughter even as he dodges each subsequent kick with relative ease before he catches Hongjoong’s leg between his muscular calves. “Would you stop? I’m trying to do something here.”

“You’re trying to give me indigestion is what you’re trying to do,” Hongjoong grumbles but deigns to stop his attacks, if only to get his limb returned. “I’m not standing on your feet, that’s just weird.”

Yunho pouts. It’s a tantalizing display with how pink and wet his lips still appear from earlier. Hongjoong absentmindedly licks his own and imagines putting them to much better use than pouting. “Hongjoong-ah, I just want to dance with you and pretend it’s our wedding. Is that so much to ask?”

The surround system clicks over to something distinctly American. The dulcet tones of a man and his backup singers waxing poetic about ‘just the two of us’ and Hongjoong gives up—gives in.

Hongjoong looks up at him fondly, at the ridiculous man he’s going to be marrying in only a month and vacationing with in some far away country for almost as long. “Fine.” Yunho smiles so wide his teeth gleam in the dimmed light. “By the way, I meant to tell you this earlier, but you’ve still got drool on your chin.”

Yunho yells something unintelligible scrubbing away the evidence as Hongjoong laughs and laughs and leads them into the first stumbling steps of a foxtrot.


	2. in Sickness and in Health

Hongjoong feels the first tickle in the back of his throat while he’s unboxing the last of his supplies in the newest studio Yunho had purchased for him as a wedding gift before they fucked off to Italy for three months. It’s right across the street from their highrise penthouse because Hongjoong could only put up with the constant fifteen minute uber rides to and from his workspace for so long. Especially when Yunho texts him pictures of his mouth around a ball gag or the slacks of his work suit pulled tight against his—

His thoughts are interrupted by a spasm in his lungs and a hacking cough that overtakes him just as the last of the striped linen on a bolt gets sorted into its cubby hole.

Seonghwa and Mingi both shoot him concerned looks from opposite sides of the studio.

“Hongjoong-ssi, are you alright?” Mingi calls from across the room, holding what looks to be the metal leg to one of Hongjoong’s mannequins and—well, he’ll have to deal with that later. Mingi means well, and Hongjoong has sort of adopted him as his favorite male model to work with because of his shoulder measurements alone, but he’s not exactly a handyman and it shows. 

“I’m okay, I'm okay,” Hongjoong coughs again, eyes tearing up and blurring the edges of his vision, “Just inhaled dust or something, I’ll be fine just give me a second.”

Mingi shrugs and goes back to trying to finagle the mannequin leg in place—upside down—but Seonghwa is already forcing a mug of lukewarm tap water from the bathroom sink into his hands. “Drink up.”

Hongjoong sips it and is apparently thirstier than he thought. His throat is dry, aches when the water passes through. “Thanks, hyung.”

“Sure,” Seonghwa says, placing his hands on his hips and surveying the wreck of empty cardboard boxes and wrapping supplies scattered around the room. “I say we call today a success and finish up tomorrow. We’ve been at this since eight in the morning and it’s almost four—doesn’t your husband come home from work soon?”

Hongjoong bites his bottom lip, willing the flush from his face at the mention of Yunho’s new title. When that doesn’t work he holds the cool ceramic of the mug to one side of his face and hides the other behind his hand. “Yeah he—he does.”

Seonghwa and Mingi make simultaneous disgusted noises in the background. Hongjoong decides to be benevolent and ignore them, since Seonghwa has his own history of being obnoxiously in love and Mingi is, well. Mingi is Mingi, it’s almost impossible to hate him. 

Hongjoong kicks them out to the hallway anyway. 

Seonghwa just cackles followed by offering Mingi a ride. Hongjoong listens to Mingi’s, “Oh, are you in the G-Wagon, hyung-nim?” and laughs at the subsequent whoop when Seonghwa answers in the affirmative. He spends a few moments turning off lights and locking up.

The itch in the back of his throat stays with him the entire five minute walk from the elevator of his studio building to the crosswalk to the lobby where he waves to Eunjung.

**\----------------**

Hongjoong blinks awake at the sound of the door chime and doesn’t immediately remember falling asleep on their couch. His brain is in a fog, groggy from sleeping at such an odd hour of the day and his throat throbs in intermittent little stabs of pain. 

Yunho’s smiling face hovers above him, hair haloed in the bright light of their living room, dressed to the nines in Hongjoong’s favorite custom Versace suit. “Morning, sleepy head.”

“Mmm,” Hongjoong reaches out to curl a palm around the back of Yunho’s left knee. “What time is it?”

“Time for you to get a watch.” Yunho giggles at Hongjoong’s answering groan. “Kidding, it’s almost six. Are you feeling alright? You’re never asleep when I get home.”

Hongjoong blinks at the brightness of the room, the fog refusing to clear and now his head feels like it’s stuffed full with cotton. Burning, awful, head killing cotton. He tries to say something, anything, but mostly ends up coughing and grumbling something intelligible into a nearby cushion. 

He feels the tips of Yunho’s fingers dip down to touch his forehead, his cheeks, the slope of his neck against the mole Yunho tends to mark up when they fuck face-to-face. “Baby?”

“Think I’m getting sick,” Hongjoong croaks at him.

Yunho hums, crouching down to his eye level. “You think?” Hongjoong glares at him. Apparently it has all the effect of a tiny kitten’s meow because Yunho only coos back. “Why don’t I prop you up in the shower and find you some medicine.”

Hongjoong snorts and rolls to face the back of the couch. “You just want to get me naked.”

Yunho laughs and tugs him backwards into his chest, awkwardly holding Hongjoong’s upper body against him. “What I want is to be a good _husband_ and take care of my _husband_ while he’s sick.”

“Stop saying the h-word,” Hongjoong whines. “You know what that does to me, it’s not fair!” 

Yunho, shithead spouse that he is, starts whispering it over and over again while Hongjoong’s heart beats double time and his face burns from a mixture of love and embarrassment. “Hongjoong, come on, let me at least run you a hot bath.” Hongjoong’s answer is a racking cough that rattles the couch and Yunho’s hands on his chest. “Alright, that does it.” Yunho declares, and Hongjoong feels his husband's fingers grip underneath his knees and his back—watches the room tilt and fall away.

“Oh,” Hongjoong breathes into the luxury linen against Yunho’s chest. He reaches up to curl his arms around the sturdy line of Yunho’s shoulders. “Hello.”

“Hi,” Yunho whispers against his temple with a kiss. “Let’s get you in the tub and I’ll order some takeout, mm?”

“Fine,” Hongjoong rasps, tries to hold back a slow wheezing sort of cough. It makes him sound like a sad approximation of a dying toad especially with the way his cheeks puff out. “Ugh.”

Yunho delicately sets him down on the lip of their clawfoot bathtub and pulls at Hongjoong’s sleeves until he can throw the shirt into their laundry bin. “Takeout and a round of nyquil it is.” 

Yunho leaves him to it. Before the door to the bathroom can shut completely, Hongjoong calls out, “I want soup!”

“What kind of soup?” Yunho yells back.

Hongjoong slips his feet out of his leggings and giggles to himself, a terrible answer on the tip of his tongue. “Something hot!” Yunho makes a loud angry sound in the background and Hongjoong laughs harder. He manages to get out a mocking, “I love you” just as another round of hard choking coughs overtake him again. 

Yunho pokes his head back in with his cellphone cupped against his cheek and a bland expression on his face. “I love you too even though you drive me insane.”

Hongjoong blows him a kiss and dips down into the delicious, muscle relaxing heat of the bathwater. 

**\----------------**

Hongjoong is objectively worse the next morning. His throat is a pillar of fire leading down into his chest. His ears feel as if someone has shoved the entirety of a pillow’s innards into his canals and his body aches in the worst way. When he coughs—when he can’t _stop_ coughing—he has to run to the bathroom to retch into the toilet while his lungs struggle to function and his stomach tries to squeeze itself empty.

He hadn’t noticed, too busy trying to suck in any amount of oxygen, but Yunho follows him into the bathroom to run his huge, soothing, cool palms down his back and makes shushing noises against his ear. “Hyung-ah, you’re going to give yourself a panic attack—breathe with me, come on.”

Hongjoong does his best, still shaky with the aftereffects of being violently ill at an ungodly hour of the morning while Yunho reaches over to push the handle and whisk the sight of last night’s egg drop soup away. The lip of the seat is cool against his forehead. “Sorry.”

He feels Yunho place a kiss dead center on the back of his head. “You don’t need to be sorry. Everyone gets sick.”

“I know,” Hongjoong reaches back to grab one of Yunho’s hands—the left one with the double stack of rings Hongjoong likes to linger over late at night when he's feeling particularly sappy—and squeezes his fingers. The room spins in sickening half circles when he tries to look back so Hongjoong thunks his head back against the toilet seat. “Still sorry. I didn’t want to wake you up.”

Yunho squeezes his hand before slowly standing up. Hongjoong can hear him rustling around in their cabinets for a moment before he hears the sound of the sink’s faucet turning on, then off. A cool rag is rubbed gently against his forehead, down his cheeks, and finally across his mouth. Yunho brings him a tiny cup of mouthwash followed by a large glass full with water and Hongjoong is so thankful he could cry. 

Hongjoong has never been with anyone like Yunho. Seonghwa and Yeosang tried, in their way, to take care of him, but Hongjoong was always careful— _so_ _careful_ —to stay out of their space when he was sick. His one night stands and various would-be lovers never saw him at less than perfect thanks to his need to be over confident and dominant at all times. Weakness in the face of someone that Hongjoong doesn’t want or care to know expressly verboten. 

So it’s especially mortifying that Hongjoong starts sobbing now.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he hiccups between breaths, hands cupped over his mouth to try and muffle the noise of his crying. His stomach hurts. His throat hurts. Everything hurts except for the places where Yunho’s hands touch. “I’m so sorry.”

Yunho makes shushing noises against his back before pulling Hongjoong into his lap in the middle of their marble tiled bathroom floor. “Hongjoong, jagiyah, no,” Hongjoong’s husband rocks them together gently, not fast enough to aggravate the dizziness behind Hongjoong’s eyeballs for which he is so grateful. “You have nothing to be sorry about. This is okay, you’re okay, we’ll call the doctor up when his office opens, mh? Don’t cry.”

Hongjoong lets himself be rocked, does his best to get the stuttering breaths to turn into even gulps of air between coughing fits, and accepts the wad of toilet paper Yunho hands him to wipe the worst of his nose clean. They stay rocking together for long moments before Hongjoong decides he can leave the safety of the bathroom and allows Yunho to carry him back to bed for cuddles and a cold rag to his burning head.

**\----------------**

“I can’t believe I caught the _flu_ ,” Hongjoong moans nasally through the haze of fever. “I used to get immunized for everything under the sun every quarter for my old job! Shouldn’t that mean I’m impervious to viruses now?” 

Kim Eunjung only clicks her tongue in response before shoving another round of tamiflu and a full glass of water into his waiting hands. Hongjoong grimaces at her wrinkled face but acquiesces to swallow the pills down. “It’s been a while since you’ve had a flu shot, I imagine your body wasn’t prepared to fight the new strain this year.”

Hongjoong stares longingly towards the opposite windows where he can barely make out the window of his studio. “I should be _working_ , not sitting here doing nothing.”

Eunjung ignores him, a grandmother through and through, and tucks another blanket high around his shoulders and over his lap where he’s sat upright in the center of their couch. She’d dropped by that morning, taken one look at Hongjoong’s pathetic rheumy-eyed expression and left to bring him her magical cure all soup and enough medicine to knock down a horse. “What you should be doing is _resting_ , Hongjoong-ah.” Eunjung offers him another warmed mug of soup—it tastes like warm spice and beef—and leans close to whisper conspiratorially, “You know, your husband begged me to check up on you this morning on his way to the office.”

Hongjoong gapes at her, amazed. “He did?”

“He did,” Eunjung confirms. She checks his temperature with the back of a hand, lovely and warm. “I don’t think he wanted to leave you alone.”

After a small coughing fit, Hongjoong hides a grin behind the now empty mug. Yunho had taken two days to work from home after the doctor had made a house visit, which mainly consisted of Yunho running back and forth bringing Hongjoong blankets he didn’t ask for and glasses of water he couldn’t finish before the next one appeared on the nightstand. If Yunho had accomplished any kind of work, it would have been a miracle. Hongjoong finally had to kick him out that morning when the home phone started ringing and ringing and ringing and wouldn’t stop until Yunho finally deigned to leave Hongjoong alone enough to answer.

“He’s good to me,” Hongjoong whispers back to her like a secret. Suddenly bashful when he’s usually anything but.

Eunjung laughs, and cups a palm underneath his chin to squeeze with no small amount of affection. “You’re good to each other. I’ve got to get back to my post. You have my number if you need anything. These old bones may not move like they used to, but I can still be here in less than ten minutes.”

“Thank you, Eunjung-noona,” Hongjoong sniffs. He’s going to pretend it’s from the awful flu working its magic on his immune system than the overflowing well of emotion making his chest ache.

“Stop calling me noona.” Eunjung admonishes and leaves quietly through the front door. 

His phone dings.

Hongjoong stares at it unblinking. It dings again. Hongjoong coughs once, debates the merits of leaning forward enough to find out what’s happening or who’s texting him, and decides—fuck it. His head drops back against the couch and almost instantly he’s asleep.

**\----------------**

When he wakes up, it’s to the new scenery of the bedroom and a blazing line of heat against his back that’s making even the skin behind his knees sweat. The hands around his middle are soft and the left has a stack of rings on its fourth finger that feel familiar. Yunho. Hongjoong muffles a cough with his hand. Only his idiot husband would abandon his post at the corporate office to come cuddle on his lunch time escape.

His phone is set to charging on the nightstand.

Hongjoong reaches for it, yawning, and pauses with his mouth half open at the cascade of notifications sitting unread on his screen all in the span of an hour.

_‘How are you feeling?’_

_‘is the cough any better ):’_

_‘i asked eunjung to check up on you lmk when she gets in ok’_

_‘Hongjoong?’_

_‘answer your messages punk!!!!’_

_‘im kidding i love you please tell me how you’re doing it is so loenly at the office ):’_

_‘jongho yelled at me for trying to sneak out’_

_‘screw this i miss you im coming home’_

Well. 

Yunho makes a snuffling noise behind him rubbing his nose against the smooth cotton of Hongjoong’s pajama top. Hongjoong sets his phone back down on the nightstand before turning over to hide the no doubt stupidly giddy smile on his face and lets the warm proximity of the man he loves so much lull him back to sleep. They can always discuss Yunho’s penchant for running away from his responsibilities later.

In his sleep, after Hongjoong has already dropped off and started drooling again, Yunho coughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and they traded the flu back and forth forever. the end.


	3. There's An App For That

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. Note the rating change. We're officially going full feral with this series.
> 
> This chapter is specially dedicated to [djspookyjiiim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/djspookyjiiim) for showing me/laughing with me over a $15k vibrator, its less expensive yet horrifically named buttplug cousin, and then continuing to enable my Ruin Hongjoong agenda.

“Baby, I’m home!” Hongjoong calls out into the barely lit penthouse entrance. Yunho doesn’t respond, more than likely playing a game with his noise cancelling headphones on again so Hongjoong isn’t especially bothered by the lack of response. He finds Yunho waiting for him in the lounge with their favorite tequila set out with chilled shot glasses already sweating on the marble coffee table. He’s a little amused by Yunho fumbling with his phone when he says, “What’s all this about?”

“You’re home! I didn’t hear you come in,” Yunho’s grin is a touch maniacal when he continues, “I bought you a gift.”

Hongjoong waits for the explanation, any explanation for the crazed glint in his husband’s eye or the giddy slant of his mouth. He allows Yunho to lead him toward the couch and press him down into the middle cushion without resistance before he asks, “What kind of gift?”

“An expensive one,” Yunho places a kiss to his ear and a medium sized wooden box into his hands. “Your favorite.”

“This isn’t another one of those weird gaming headsets is it? I told you after the first one that they make me nauseous.” Hongjoong grimaces up at him. “It’s going to take more than one shot of tequila to get me to play that migraine nightmare with you again.”

He decides to ignore the shitty roll of his husband’s eyes. “It’s not a headset, hyung. Just open it.”

Hongjoong does.

Inside is a darker box that hinges open with a slight squeal. Nestled against dark velvet is a golden metallic—

“Dude,” Hongjoong starts laughing. “This is a buttplug.”

“It’s a 24 karat _gold_ buttplug.” Yunho stresses with a low whine. “And for the love of god quit calling me ‘dude’. I’m your husband!”

“It’s been in my vocabulary since college, deal with it.” Hongjoong pulls the plug out of the box by the loop on the end to twirl it around his forefinger. It’s surprisingly hefty, a nice weight despite it’s somewhat flimsy appearance, and he digs through the box to see what else is hidden in a smaller pouch of white satin. Two golden rectangles with embossed logos roll into his waiting palm. “Are these cufflinks?”

“Yeah, don’t ask me why,” Yunho sits beside him and pulls some program up on his phone. “That’s not the best part though, here—”

Yunho does something and the plug, still hanging loosely from his finger, starts gently pulsing. It’s app controlled. “Oh,” he breathes, “What’s the range on this thing?”

“Pretty much anywhere as long as there’s wifi.”

Hongjoong instantly feels his nipples tighten as the endless possibilities circle through his brain. He wasn’t planning on doing anything tonight but now...with the plug still pulsing in gentle bursts in his hand and Yunho biting his lips with that flush in his cheeks—

Hongjoong rolls the metal through his tongue against the inside of his cheek, arousal already making its sluggish trek through his veins to settle in tight coils in his gut. “Download the app to my phone too while I pour us some drinks.” 

**\----------------**

“H-Hyung, please, _please_ ,” Yunho slurs from his position in the middle of their bed as Hongjoong flicks the intensity back down to nothing. Drool makes a steady trail out of the side of his mouth as his husband curls his fingers and his toes desperately into the sheets; held back by a set of cuffs they hadn’t broken out since the first month of their strange arrangement so long ago.

“Please what?” Hongjoong coos, gently dripping tequila from his fingertips to the dips of Yunho’s stomach—muscles clenched and quivering—and sucking a small bruise into the skin of his hip. The tequila goes rolling off into the satin when Yunho wiggles too hard in a useless bid to find friction against his dick. “What did I say earlier about moving?” Hongjoong tuts, “Now you’re wasting perfectly good alcohol.”

“I’m sorry,” Yunho whimpers. “I just want to come so bad, hyung, please you have to—”

Hongjoong bites against the swell of one nipple in reprimand; Yunho makes a low noise in the back of his throat. “Excuse me, I don’t _have_ to do anything but sit here and watch you cry.” Just to be cruel, Hongjoong slicks one hand with too much lube and jacks the angry red jut of Yunho’s cock slow and steady until he’s babbling a mixture of apologies and warnings that he’s close. When he feels the telltale hardening, Hongjoong grips the base of Yunho’s cock—vicelike—and turns the intensity of the plug back up to the highest level.

It’s a good thing they own the entire first and second floors of this complex or else the neighbors would more than likely be calling the police from the sound of Yunho screaming as his orgasm is denied, waves crashing uselessly against the fist Hongjoong has around his base. 

“What do we say?” Hongjoong laughs and takes another sip of his tequila. It burns all the way down to set fire to his veins already heated from the beautiful vision of Yunho falling to pieces by his hand. He is kind enough to back the app down to nothing again just to give Yunho enough of a reprieve to catch his breath. 

“H-h-hyun-ngh,” Yunho sobs. His cock is angry, the head is almost purple, and wet—so wet it makes Hongjoong’s mouth water. “I-I’m so-o-rr-y.”

Hongjoong lets go of Yunho’s cock—ignoring his pathetic whine from the loss of contact—to reposition himself between Yunho’s spread legs. He’s gorgeous like this, unable to move, hole gaped open and glistening around a toy, and at the mercy of Hongjoong’s whims. He leans over to run his tongue over the fine hairs dotting Yunho’s thigh, teases the skin delicately between his teeth. “What else?”

“It wo-won’t happen again,” Yunho hiccups, looking back at him with red rimmed eyes and eyelashes clumped together by his tears. “ _Ple-ease_ , Hongjoong.”

It’s as good of an answer as he’s going to get with Yunho so keyed up like this; not after an hour of edging him to the brink and back. Hongjoong gifts him a smile and leans over to kiss the ridges of Yunho’s stomach. “Good boy,” he tells him and taps the app to a moderate pulsing again before sucking Yunho down to the root as he comes—almost immediately with a tinny sounding cry. 

Hongjoong tugs the plug away gently when he’s done, when Yunho is still shivering and shaking through aftershocks, barely conscious and making blissed out noises. His own cock is begging for attention but he ignores it in favor of making sure the muscles in Yunho’s legs and arms don’t cramp from being tied up and away for so long.

“You still with me?” Hongjoong asks him once he’s massaged the last of the twitching muscles in Yunho’s legs away.

“Mhmm,” Yunho sighs back, obviously deeply satisfied with himself and the world. “Definitely worth the four million won.”

Hongjoong hides his laughter into Yunho’s kneecap. “I can’t fucking believe—a 24 karat gold buttplug of all things. Where did you even find this?”

“You just don’t worry about it,” Yunho blows him a kiss. Hongjoong raises a brow when his husband shifts his legs to rest on either side of his neck. “I know you didn’t get to come, wanna fuck my thighs?”

God bless this man. Hongjoong bites the jut of one ankle, “You sure you’re up for it?”

“I’m up for anything.” Yunho grins back. He’s still flushed red from his head down to his nipples, lube still shining in the hair around his dick down to his balls. He’s perfect. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Hongjoong answers and slicks the gap between Yunho’s thighs. “Love you the _most_.”

**\----------------**

Hongjoong hates Yunho with the burning passion of a thousand suns. 

“No.”

“Hyung-ah,” Yunho stomps a foot a bit like a toddler. “Please? It’s going to be really boring without you there with me.”

Hongjoong pulls a blanket from the back of their couch to hide beneath it, like maybe if he can’t see Yunho then Yunho can’t see him and he’ll _stop asking_. “It’s going to be boring whether I’m there or not, though.”

Yunho flips the blanket up and off before plopping himself in Hongjoong’s lap. “You know I can’t stand these yesman events without you there to make fun of all the bad toupées.” Hongjoong feels his resolve crumbling the longer Yunho gazes at him with that one watery, pouty expression. “Hyung. Hongjoong. Yeobo,” Yunho breathes against his neck, arms wrapped around his shoulders. “I _need_ you.”

The last of his defensive measures dissolve into nothingness. “Fine.” Yunho cheers. “But you owe me a new suit, and not that ready made shit either—I want something _custom_.”

“Fine by me,” Yunho jumps up to start getting ready, the sound of his thumping footsteps echoing in the room. He calls back, “I’m laying out the Versace for you!”

Hongjoong groans in defeat, faceplanting into the couch cushions and bemoaning his lack of willpower.

**\----------------**

Yunho sips his overly carbonated champagne and grimaces at the latest brown noser trying to upsell his stock portfolio. These events are usually full of them, populated only by the greasiest and most invested in climbing the corporate ladder without actually putting in the work to get there. He misses the days when he still had the minty blue hair and most of the old men with their outdated business proposals steered clear of him out of spite. Though, the black that he had now had it’s own personal perks.

His now husband couldn’t stop staring at him the first day he’d come home from the stylist. Yunho had been smug for days afterward, buzzing from head to toe with his newfound power over Hongjoong and basking in the constant sore ache in his scalp from how much Hongjoong liked grabbing fistfuls mid-coitus. 

Speaking of—

Yunho scans the room until his eyes land on Hongjoong propped up against the bar making small talk with a woman in a flashy sequined dress. He has the look of someone who is there in body but not in spirit. His usual radiant energy flagging from being surrounded with businessmen he doesn’t give two shits about, but Yunho is eternally grateful he came at all. Just being able to look up from some grouchy director of automotive-something-or-other to Hongjoong’s polite society smile is enough to make him feel like he can make it through the next hour without screaming bloody murder.

His husband makes eye contact then. Yunho waves at him, a small wiggle of fingers without being too obnoxious, and Hongjoong waves back with a smirk. There at the edge of his cuff—and how Yunho didn’t notice when they left home he’ll never know—are gold cufflinks that carry an embossed logo Yunho can almost envision with picture perfect clarity. Hongjoong winks before engaging in his previous conversation.

Almost instantaneously, Yunho feels his mouth go dry. Holy shit. 

_Holy shit._

As discreetly as possible while in the middle of a crowded conference hall, Yunho opens the app that controls the plug and bumps it to the lowest setting. Just to see. Just to be sure. He watches out of the corner of his eye as Hongjoong jumps a little in his seat before settling back to cross his legs together. The reaction is so mild it might as well just have been Hongjoong trying to cover a fart or something, so Yunho bumps the pulse to something a little less coordinated and the vibration higher and waits.

Hongjoong almost spills his drink down his front with how hard he jolts upright. The woman next to him is giving him a strange look that Hongjoong waves off. Yunho covers his mouth to stop the affected gasp and adjusts the settings of the plug for several minutes, ignoring at least two would-be shareholders trying to make conversation. Hongjoong continues to jolt and squirm with every new sensation Yunho sends his way.

Hongjoong apparently makes the woman in the sequin getup uncomfortable enough that she bows and moves to the opposite side of the room and his husband sends Yunho such a hot headed glare it almost makes his skin tingle from the heat.

Yunho snickers—a tad evilly if he’s honest—and dials everything back to their lowest settings before pocketing his phone and attempting to make his way to the bar. Half-way there he’s stopped by Youngchul, the bane of his existence by virtue of his daughter’s disappointingly predictable failing business venture, who tries to shake his hand. “Yunho-ssi, sir! I just wanted to thank you again for your generosity for our Aeyoung’s perfurmery even though it didn’t work out like we’d hoped.”

Yunho shakes his hand briefly, still watching the hunched curve of Hongjoong’s back, “Of course, Youngchul-ssi. I do hope it was a teachable moment for your daughter. If you’ll excuse me, I need to—”

“Oh, she’s learned so much with this attempt,” Youngchul continues. He rubs a hand self-consciously over the gleaming bald patch of his scalp having finally given up on the horrible toupées. “She’s already trying to come up with much more profitable business models as we speak.”

“Is that so,” Yunho tries to sidestep the man with no success, Youngchul moves with him. 

“Actually, I wanted to speak to you about that if you’ve got time.” Youngchul rubs his palms together. “You see, our Aeyoung is getting married soon and wants to open a bridal shop after the honeymoon, so—”

Youngchul is interrupted by Yunho’s ringtone. The caller ID is a collection of a hearts that Yunho bites his lip at, “I’m sorry, Youngchul-ssi, I need to take this call. You’ll have to bring this up at our next board meeting.” Youngchul gives him a pinched mouth scowl that Yunho ignores, sidestepping him with ease.

When he answers, Yunho barely gets his mouth open before Hongjoong is hissing darkly between his teeth, “If you make me come in custom Versace I swear to god, Yunho,” and then he’s hanging up. Yunho laughs, turning the app off to give his husband a little reprieve, finally gets close enough to wrap his arms around Hongjoong’s middle.

“Hey there, handsome.” Yunho whispers into his ear while Hongjoong shudders violently in his embrace. “ _Come_ here often?”

“I hate you so fucking much,” Hongjoong slurs. His hands are slick with sweat and shaking when they grip Yunho’s own. “Get us out of here and then get in me before I lose my mind.”

“You’re the one who put the plug in when we were about to be in public for hours.” Yunho kisses the curve of his ear against the multitude of piercings. “Wanna go recreate the first time I took you to one of these in the back of the car?”

“God yes,” Hongjoong breathes back, sneaking a kiss against Yunho’s jaw. “We can skip Balmain this time though. I have enough blazers to last the winter.”

Yunho snorts as he’s leading them towards the parking garage where the Maserati waits. “You have enough blazers to open your own fucking store at this point.”

Hongjoong’s breathing is erratic when they climb into the backseat and Yunho makes quick work stripping him out of his suit. His dick curves pretty and flushed against his stomach; Yunho wishes he could take a picture for posterity. “Someday I’m going to open my own store anyway.”

“Someday,” Yunho agrees, before tugging his phone back out.

Hongjoong whines high pitched, “Yunho, what are you do—” he’s cut off by a moan shocked out of him by Yunho turning the plug on once again to the highest intensity. He giggles a little helplessly when Hongjoong chokes and his dick jumps, drooling a line of precum into his navel. 

“Payback is a bitch, huh?” Yunho rubs his fingers up the length of Hongjoong’s legs, avoiding his crotch, scratches his nails up his torso until he can get his fingers on either nipple to twist the barbells just the way Hongjoong likes. “Think you can come like this?”

“Ye-yeah,” Hongjoong covers his mouth with a hand and bites on a knuckle to muffle the noise falling out of his mouth. “Go-d, Yunho, this is—this is really—”

“I know,” Yunho coos. He pulls back so he can shift Hongjoong’s legs up and bends them enough that Yunho can watch the plug move with every pulse of Hongjoong’s muscles. Yunho licks from the base of the plug upwards until he can suck Hongjoong’s balls into his mouth—the skin bitter from sweat—just to hear his husband cry out louder. He pops off just enough to say, “Come for me” before slipping the tip of Hongjoong’s cock into his mouth.

Hongjoong comes with a wail hidden behind the curve of his elbow. Yunho takes the release into his mouth before spitting it into a nearby wad of tissues and turning off the app. Hongjoong continues to shiver even after Yunho has him cleaned up and his arms somewhat back into his suit. “What’s the verdict?”

“Worth every single won.” Hongjoong sighs at the moon roof. Yunho hums, pulls Hongjoong’s underwear and pants back up over the plug still nestled in the crack of his ass. Hongjoong makes a questioning noise when Yunho buttons him back up. “Yunho? The plug?”

“It’s going to hold my place for me until we get back.” Yunho smiles and knows it looks mean. “We need to have a discussion about my horny husband pulling me out of a conference an hour earlier than I needed to leave.”

Hongjoong gulps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure: the buttplug/cufflink combo IS a real product from lelo but it does not, in fact, have an app that controls vibration. It doesn't vibrate at all, which is a shame because the fucking thing is close to $3k, you'd think it would come with extra features besides cufflinks.  
> Also it's called the Earl. 
> 
> _Earl_.


End file.
